Problematic
by Alphabet Pie
Summary: Marluxia, a serial murderer and rapist at seventeen, has three months to convince his psychiatrist Vexen that he is fit to be released. Some violence, bad language and emoes. 411, LexZex mentioned. Now with Epilogue. Sequel possible, keep your eyes open..
1. Prologue

* * *

He had the perfect parents - loving, caring but strict and sensible too. He came from a rich, suburban background, went to the best school in the area. He was lovingly protected from the horrors of the media, carefully kept from all bad influences.

He was a sweet child, with fluffy auburn hair, a cute face and the most beautiful deep blue eyes. He also possessed a mischievous grin which endeared him to the hearts of everyone who knew him.

"He'll be a real charmer when he grows up," Mothers would coo outside the school gate.

He got into trouble often, but he was let off more. "He's just being cheeky," They would excuse him when he was wilful in front of the teachers, when he exercised his colourful language that he got from goodness knew where.

They just wanted to see a cute, cheeky kid. Nobody wanted to admit the truth.

Marluxia was uncontrollable.

Perhaps they'd have realised when he pushed one of his classmates off the school's roof. But they only thought it as an accident, fooled by his tears and cries as she died in hospital two days later. Maybe the alarm bells should have been set ringing when half the school burned down just weeks later. Three pupils were killed by the flames and nearly twenty hospitalised, but it was all put down to a mistake - the gas in the school kitchens left on, or a broken pipe somewhere in the school.

In his final year, however, something happened to reveal his true nature. It sparked a chain reaction of horrors untold, things that he'd done but nobody had ever admitted to. At first the police didn't believe the teachers and students, after all, such a cute, innocent eleven-year-old couldn't have been the one to blame for all these things. But eventually the evidence proved them wrong - he'd meant to kill the girl. He'd started the fire. He'd beaten up his teacher and locked her in the cleaning closet for three days. And he'd badly abused no less than nine of his classmates.

Somehow the media was kept out of the whole affair. That was seven years ago.

* * *

Welcome to Problematic; one of my absolute favourite stories as of yet, and I hope you enjoy it too! This version, aside from a few corrections, is largely identical to the one on DeviantArt. I'm listing it as complete for now, but there will be an epilogue at some point, too.

**Warning** for later chapters: There will be bad language, violence and emoes. You have been warned.


	2. Analysis

The building was a prison. It had a mindless maze of identical corridors, every room labelled systematically. Every room a perfect copy of the ones on either side. All the windows were small, high up and barred. All the doors had locks. Thoughtless, unyielding security guards patrolled the narrow passageways at all times.

Each footstep made a hollow clack on the plain tiled floor as he walked. In one hand, he held a thick folder filled to the brim and spilling information. In the other was a set of keys, each one with the same room number, 11-D. He finally found the right door, and undid each lock in turn, slotting each key in effortlessly, mechanically. The door opened into a tiny porch-like room with another door just a few feet in front of him. He locked the door behind him and keyed in a code he'd memorised earlier. The lock clicked open and he stepped through into a dark and empty room, barely big enough to fit in the bunk bed and desk underneath.

"Marluxia?"

There wasn't a reply. He stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him. In the black silence, he could hear quiet, steady breathing.

"Marluxia. My name is Vexen. I'm here to help you,"

The was a low chuckle from the bed, and it would have sounded pleasant if it hadn't been the only sound in the hollow darkness of the room. Then there was movement, and Marluxia leaned over the bed to look at the intruder, a wide and almost psychopathic smirk on his face.

"Apologies, _Vexen_, but I don't need your help. How about you run along now and busy yourself with someone else's pathetic existence?" His tone was condescending and full of contempt. Cruel blue eyes glittered in the darkness.

"According to this," Vexen held up the file, "You are very much in need of help,"

"And pray tell, what particular powers do you behold that will be able to help me? I'm sure they'll find the body of my last therapist in a few days,"

"I have dealt with far worse than the likes of you,"

"Really." Marluxia dipped into sarcasm.

"I would like to ask you a question, Marluxia," Vexen changed the subject, realising that the current conversation wasn't going to get him anywhere. With a hollow thunk, he dropped the file he was holding onto the desk and sat stiffly down on the only other piece of furniture in the room - an old, plain wooden chair.

"I can't stop you asking questions," Came the curt reply from the bed.

"When you were eight, you killed one of the girls in your class by pushing her off the school roof. Why?"

"Why not?"

"Most of humanity would consider murder to be cruel and evil, at the very least." Vexen looked up at the boy - he was still a boy, underneath his cold exterior. "And even murderers usually have some reason for killing. What was yours?"

"What if I told you that I was a psychopath who killed for the sheer exhilaration of taking life?" Marluxia's tone had become conversational, charming. His charismatic smile was almost entirely convincing, so much so that Vexen found himself having to concentrate very hard to see through the casual mask.

"I'm not sure that I would believe you. Because if, hypothetically, I did, there would still be the question of why you chose that particular girl, and why that particular manner of murder."

Marluxia snickered, but Vexen detected impatience in his laugh. He had turned away from Vexen, and was now inspecting what must have been a glinting blade in his hands.

"Of course. And you feel so intelligent for working through a single lie, of course. Praise for Vexen, the genius!"

"I'm merely doing my job. So tell me, why did you kill her?"

"Why does it make a difference? She's dead now," Marluxia toyed with the knife.

"If you wish to engage in a battle of rhetoric questions, Marluxia, go ahead. I will win,"

Suddenly something whipped towards him and it was only reflex action that saved him as he swung to the left to evade the knife. It thudded into the the wall, barely an inch away from him. Marluxia was already moving, ready to retrieve his knife, but Vexen carefully steadied his shocked heart, unwilling to show weakness.

"I'm sure there was no need for that." Vexen pulled the knife from the wall as he spoke.

"So you're faster that I expected. A pity really, the blood stains would make quite a nice addition the wallpaper."

Vexen didn't reply. He simply watched, hand gripped tightly around the knife. Marluxia jumped down from the bed, landing on all fours but quickly standing up. "I was looking forward to playing with you. You seemed to be more interesting than the others," Marluxia smiled quietly, as if Vexen should be grateful for the compliment. "But I was wrong. You're just as conceited as all the rest of them!" He grabbed Vexen's neck before he had any time to react, pushing him up out of the chair and against the wall. "You think that you're so intelligent, don't you? That you're so much better than me, just because you never made a mistake in your life! Because you did well at school!" His blue eyes narrowed to the thinnest of slits, seething in hatred. "You're a fool, _Vexen_. You wouldn't last a second in a fight with me,"

Vexen didn't respond. He just concentrated on breathing, hands hanging limply at his side. He didn't even struggle to free himself.

"Why don't you fight back?" Marluxia asked, a frown settling on his brow. "Are you that scared of me?" He let Vexen go, dropping him back onto the chair. "You're a strange one. Perhaps I will have fun with you after all,"

"It can't be very fun, stuck here alone, with nobody to speak to except psychiatrists,"

"You'd be surprised," It was difficult to tell whether Marluxia was being sarcastic or not.

"I have a proposition for you. I can get you out of this place," Vexen held up a formal looking letter which Marluxia snatched a little irritably. He read through it, shrugged and returned it.

"Doesn't make any sense,"

"If I can prove that, by the time you're eighteen, you've changed and are a good person, they'll quietly let you out into my care. That gives you three months to convince me,"

"And if I haven't?"

"You'll go to a maximum security mental health institute near London, straight jacketed and drugged for the rest of your life. No second chances."

"Hm."

"Do we have a deal?" Vexen slammed the knife into the arm of the chair and held his hand out. Marluxia glared with narrowed eyes.

"What's the catch?"

"There is no catch. That's it."

"Well, what constitutes as a good person? Do I have to worship God? Give to charity? Help old ladies across the street?"

"I have to be certain that you will no longer commit a crime like the ones that currently stand against your name,"

"And what's "your care"?" Marluxia was determined to find the strings.

"You'll live with me as a normal boy. Eventually, I suppose, you'll get a job and move out,"

"I don't want that. I don't want to be normal,"

"It's better than living cooped up in a box for the rest of your life,"

"Normal is a just as much a box," Marluxia muttered. "But instead of solid walls you're confined with restraints and laws, rules and codes of conduct. At least here I can be me,"

Vexen had to admit to himself that Marluxia was incredibly intelligent. The problem was that he was also hard to argue with.

"Who are you, anyway?" He chose to ignore the box comment. Marluxia shrugged.

"What do you care?"

"I'm a psychiatrist-"

"That's just a job,"

"I'm curious,"

"Oh." For once, Marluxia couldn't think of a cutting reply. He thought silently for a few moments. "So who are you?"

"Answer my question first and I'll tell you,"

Marluxia glared again, leaning against the steps up to his bed. He opened his mouth a few times, but eventually had nothing to say. And then, finally, so quiet it was barely even a whisper, like somebody unwilling to admit defeat-

"I don't know,"

"It must be hard being yourself then, box or no," Vexen remarked.

"Whatever. Now answer my question. Who are you?"

Vexen paused for a second.

"I am a man who lost his sister to a mental illness. I saw what they did to her; they treated her like less than the person she was. They broke her body and her mind and drove her to suicide. My father soon followed,"

"But that's not you. That's your family,"

"You wouldn't be so emotionless if you had seen your own father put a gun to his head,"

"My parents don't want me. They think I'm a monster. They'd rather have me dead,"

"This saddens you. You still feel an emotional attachment to them," Vexen stated. Marluxia's expression turned to anger, but even more, pain.

"They were my parents," He hissed.

"Use of past tense - you see them as a part of your past; they are no longer part of who you are, you fear that they are no longer your parents in the loving, caring sense, and that they no longer accept you as their son,"

"Are you just going to analyse everything I say?"

"Rhetoric. You're angry." Vexen sighed, watching the seething teen carefully. "Marluxia, I'm a psychiatrist. Analysis is what I do,"

"It's cruel to analyse people,"

"It's cruel to kill people,"

Marluxia bit his lip at the unexpected parry, and glared silently at Vexen for a few moments in a battle of wills. Vexen won.

"She deserved it," Marluxia finally answered, avoiding eye contact with the psychiatrist.

"Why?" Vexen immediately asked.

"Everybody does. That's why we die, isn't it? Over the course of your life, all the bad things you do just accumulates until death, the final retribution. Who knows, maybe if she was alive now she'd be a thief and murderer?"

Vexen reached over to shift through the old folder, as though it were as trivial as a bill or a school report.

"An interesting theory," He said at length. "But eight years of suspected petty wrongdoing is not enough to warrant death, Marluxia. And besides, she had her whole life ahead of her. A whole life of doing good to offset the "bad things" she may also have done,"

"She was going to die anyway. I saved her the pain and fear of growing old. Her whole life was one of innocence and happiness, she never had to feel pain, to witness death. I'm practically her saviour,"

"What about her friends, then, and her family? Did you save them from the experience of the loss of a loved one?"

"I should have killed them too, then," Marluxia stated. His tone was almost conversational, hinting at amusement.

"And their friends and family? You'd kill them too to save them the pain?"

There wasn't even a pause, a glimmer of hesitation before Marluxia's reply.

"Yes,"

"And theirs? When would it end?"

"When there was nobody left except me, I suppose," Marluxia shrugged, finished being philosophical. Vexen allowed himself a long, calculated look at the boy who had just proposed wiping out the entire human race. Eventually he looked back at the files. There were several small photographs of Marluxia paper clipped together and he looked at each one. There were seven, one for each year he'd been locked away. In his earliest shots, he was a child with a chubby face and a cheeky grin; by the time his seventh year photograph was due, that had changed to a cold, clinical glare on a well defined face.

_They've changed an errant youngster into a cold blooded murderer_, Vexen thought weakly, pushing the photographs out of the way. He turned back to the real life boy.

"Must be a lonely existence without anybody to keep you company, then," He mused. Marluxia shrugged.

"There are six point seven billion people on Earth. I wouldn't be able to kill them all,"

"Then why bother? Why not just let nature take its course and allow people to live long enough to experience real happiness instead?"

"It doesn't matter now, does it. She's dead," It seemed like there was sadness in his voice.

Marluxia's sudden change of attitude made Vexen glance up from the most recent report that he'd been reading.

"The others said that you "exhibited no sense of regret" for killing the girl," He pointed to the sheets of paper in his hand.

"They would, wouldn't they? They never bothered to look further than the surface,"

"So it would appear," Vexen agreed, evidently surprising his companion. "Beneath the sarcasm and hatred and rejection of every other human being who tries to intrude on your life. But then again, have you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You said yourself that you didn't know who you were. Have you ever sat down and thought about, underneath the act you always put on when the therapists are interrogating you, who you've actually become?"

Marluxia was silent again, as though deep in thought. Finally he just evaded the question.

"You're a very interesting man, Vexen," He observed with a smirk, eyes flicking briefly to the knife. "What is it that makes you want to know how I work? What makes me tick? Why do you want to endlessly barrage me with rhetorical questions, only to receive rhetorical answers? Do you really think that it's going to work on me? I'm more intelligent than many people think, you know,"

"If you had any intelligence at all," Vexen replied, closing the heavy folder, picking it up and standing briskly. "You would have noticed the opportunity for breaking out of this place and made an attempt to be nice to me. You could have had three months to redeem yourself, but it seems you've chosen a life time stay at a lunatic asylum as an eighteenth birthday present instead. You can expect your replacement psychiatrist within a few days. Good evening," He walked crisply over to the door and typed in the combination code.

"You mean you're not coming back?"

Vexen waved the letter.

"As far as the contractor is concerned, you could be any under eighteen year old boy in this institution. You were my first choice, but I can easily find another troubled teen who will be far more willing to co operate,"

"So you're just going to leave me,"

"Yes."

Vexen could practically feel the fury emanating from the fuming teen behind him.

"You can't-!"

He turned around and was hardly surprised to see Marluxia standing in the middle of the tiny room, fists clenched in anger.

"I can, Marluxia. I don't want to, but I'm not going to waste my time here when there are others who would be grateful for my help," Vexen opened the door and walked through into the little porch area, turning to shut the door behind him.

"Wait!" Marluxia ordered desperately.

"Goodbye, Marluxia. It was nice talking to you, attempts on my life aside," He swung the door halfway shut.

"I said, fucking _wait_!"

At lighting speed, the knife that had been wedged into the arm of the chair whipped past his arm, ripping the fabric of his jacket and slamming into the wall behind. Vexen stopped closing the door and gave Marluxia a steady look.

"Fine. Fine. I'll play your little game," Marluxia surrendered. Vexen came back into the little room and closed the door with a neat click, knife safely on the other side.

"You realise that you've already made this a lot harder on yourself?"

Marluxia growled irritably.

"Because before you only had to convince me that you had changed, and now you actually do have to change in the next three months. You see," Vexen paused momentarily as he put the folder back down on the desk. "It sometimes pays to be polite,"

"Don't act as though you're perfect, you manipulative bastard," Marluxia replied stiffly, arms crossed in defiance.

"Enough with the insults and irritation," Vexen said calmly. "And we'll get to know each other with some simple Q&A. We'll take it in turns to ask questions on any topic we like, on the terms that the other has to answer with absolute honesty. That seems fair enough, doesn't it?"

"I bet I can guess which questions you're going to ask," Marluxia stated, watching Vexen with confusion as the psychiatrist sat down on the floor. "Why don't you sit on the chair?"

"I take it that's your first question. The reason is that if I sat on the chair, then you'd be on the floor and I'd have to be looking down on you. I'd like you to see me as an equal,"

Perplexed, Marluxia slid down onto the floor too, his eyes never leaving Vexen.

"Your turn," He finally announced, unable to think of a question fast enough to argue that the first one was invalid.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

Marluxia scoffed.

"Like I'll ever have a future outside of this place,"

"But you must have thought about it at some point. After all, there's not much else to do but think here," Vexen gestured to the bare room. He knew that Marluxia knew he was right.

"I wanted to open a shop,"

"What kind of a shop?"

"It's not your turn," Marluxia replied quickly. "What made you want to become a psychiatrist, then?"

"I wanted to prove that I could be better than the so called doctors that treated my sister. What kind of a shop?"

"A shop that sells things," Marluxia said, evading the question as much as possible.

"If you're going to be uncooperative, I will get up and leave," Vexen calmly stated, inspecting the damage to his jacket. Marluxia glared.

"Fine. I wanted to be a florist. And don't you dare laugh," He added, seeing a trace of a smirk form on Vexen's lips.

"I admit that I'm surprised. It's an interesting profession choice for somebody like you,"

"So what? I like flowers. There's nothing wrong with that,"

Vexen glanced up at the barred window and the brick wall behind it.

"You must not see many these days,"

"I had a book, until a few months ago. I used to spend my time remembering all the species from the pictures. But then they decided it was a health risk and took it away,"

"And yet the knife wasn't,"

"They didn't realise I had that. Anyway, it's my turn,"

"Fire away,"

"How old are you, anyway?"

"I'm twenty seven. What is it about flowers that you like?"

"They're relaxing. And I liked the smell of them,"

"Okay," Vexen nodded. He checked his watch. "We've got ten minutes until I have to go,"

"When are you coming back?"

"Next week. That's the most I'm allowed, at least for the first month. After that, I may be able to see you more often. Now. If you knew you only had one day left to live, in which you could do whatever you wanted, what would you do?"

"I'd kill as many people as I could,"

"That seems like a rather pointless thing to do. Wouldn't you rather go and do something that truly made you happy?"

"The only thing that can make anybody truly happy is another person. Their soul mate, if you like. So that renders that particular option useless,"

"You're extremely perceptive," Vexen said. "Your turn,"

"Are you a virgin?"

It was impossible to miss Marluxia's devilish smile. Vexen suddenly remembered the briefing he'd been given when he'd first found out about Marluxia. He'd begun in the care of a youth offender's team, but his crimes hadn't stopped there. It was something like seven other murders, and he'd only been fifteen when he'd committed his first rape.

"Now why would you want to know that?"

"Call it curiosity,"

"No," Vexen answered curtly. "And I know you're not, so there's no need for me to ask,"


	3. Chlorophytum Comosum

When Vexen opened the door the second time, he found Marluxia hanging upside down from the bunk bed.

"Is that fun?" He asked, eyeing the teen with interest. Marluxia shrugged to the best of his ability.

"There are worse things I could spend my time doing. Like trying to wrench the bunk bed away from the wall, for example,"

The wooden structure seemed solid enough, but Vexen theatrically checked its fastenings to the wall for Marluxia's amusement.

"And how has that endeavour been going?"

"It got boring after a few days. I'm guessing they must have used screws about a foot long," Marluxia lifted himself away from the bed and stood up, flicking a stray strand of his hair out of his face as he did so. "But you have no idea how bored I've been. At least the last woman used to come every other day,"

"Until you killed her,"

Marluxia's shrugged again and smiled.

"She made the most beautiful of screams,"

Sighing, Vexen sat down on the floor. He placed a plastic bag onto the chair next to him.

"With an attitude like that, there's no way I'll be able to get you out,"

"What's in the bag?"

"I have something that might convince you to keep the lights on a little more often,"

"A new novelty light switch?"

Vexen peeled away the plastic to reveal a little spider plant in a plastic flowerpot.

"Chlorophytum comosum," Marluxia said immediately, rushing over to cradle the pot in his hands. His face, previously so stoic, had lit up with childlike content. "They're native to South Africa, you know,"

"It's nothing special, but I thought you could do with something to look after and keep you amused. Eventually when it has plantlets I'll bring in more flowerpots and you can plant them too," Vexen explained, crumpling up the now empty plastic bag.

"Nobody ever thought to bring me a plant before," Marluxia said quietly, slightly in awe. He inspected the narrow leaves, and then prodded the soil it was embedded in.

"I'll warn you now, any bad behaviour and it'll be the first thing to go. You have no idea how many arguments and conditions I had to go through to allow you this-" Vexen stopped. Marluxia, serial murderer and rapist, was making pleased noises. Vexen coughed pointedly and he stopped, blushing a little.

"You're really not as heartless as you try to make out, are you?" Vexen observed.

"I'm allowed to be pleased,"

"A spider plant is a very small thing to be pleased with,"

"When you have as little as I do, you learn to take delight in the small things. Or would you rather I killed you for not getting me something more extravagant?"

Vexen nodded thoughtfully, and then pulled out a notepad and jotted something down.

"I've been thinking," He finally said as he set down his pen. "Aside from visiting therapists and the obligatory half an hour's exercise in that yard each day, what other activities do you do?"

"They wire me up for brain scanning every week. They seem to think that there's something wrong with my moral functions or my inhibitions centre or something. And then if anything interesting happens I'm allowed to watch the news. But that's all. They're not even bothering to teach me anything any more,"

"I'm afraid to say that there are many people who do not think you will ever have a life outside of a cell block,"

Marluxia was silent for a few moments, absent mindedly stroking the leaves of his new plant.

"They just don't want to admit that I'm more complicated than your ordinary murderer,"

Vexen picked up his pen again and continued to write.

"Could you explain why you're more complicated?"

"I'm seventeen, for a start,"

"It's unusual, but not unheard of,"

"I wasn't even planning on being a killer. The first girl. She was an accident-"

"You didn't mean to push her off the roof?"

"I didn't mean for her to hit the ground. I was going to catch her," Marluxia explained quietly.

_Child logic_, Vexen thought. _I suspected as much_.

"And I didn't mean for anybody to get hurt in the fire. We'd practised the fire drill so many times, I thought that they'd all get out fine. I was just trying to cause harmless trouble,"

He paused, drawing his knees up to his chest.

"But when everybody found out what I'd done, I... They all said I was a monster. And I believed them. I was a monster. I'd killed people. Even though I didn't mean to, I'd hurt so many people, and then..."

"You ended up just proving them right?" Vexen asked, rounding off a sentence and turning the page. Marluxia nodded, staring at the threadbare floor.

"I was damned to hell anyway,"

"There is such thing as redemption, you know," Vexen commented. To his surprise, Marluxia smiled.

"So I keep hoping," He said so quietly it was almost a half whisper. But then his smile faded. "But every time I think I'm changing, another thing happens and I kill again,"

Vexen nodded sympathetically.

"So could you explain the feelings and emotions that you experience when you take another's life?"

"Careful," Marluxia said. "You're beginning to sound like my other psychiatrists,"

"I do have to do my job as well, you know,"

Marluxia, having no reply to Vexen's comment, simply looked away.

"Well?"

"I- I don't know. Anger, I suppose. I don't think about what I'm doing. It's an automatic reaction to when I feel threatened,"

Vexen finished writing down what Marluxia had said and set his pen down. Just two meetings and he'd already managed to burrow further down into Marluxia's personality and motives than any of his predecessors. It was an encouraging thought.

"Thank you," He said. "Now, is there anything else you want to talk about?"

"You're different to the others," Marluxia eventually noted.

"So you've said," Vexen agreed.

"Why?"

"I think that every human being has a right to be treated as such, no matter what they've done,"

"And why me?"

Vexen thought about his answer for a moment.

"There was something not quite right about your record," He finally said. "Each time you killed, you were moved further down the line, treated less of a person. And each time that happened you retaliated in the only way you knew how to. There's a kind of cycle in there, of you think about it. The more other people cut you off, the more you closed yourself off to other people. Deep down inside, I don't think you're a cold hearted murderer. You've just been told that you are for so long that you're beginning to believe it,"

That definitely struck a nerve somewhere.

"Perhaps," was all that Marluxia had to say when he replied. Hanging in the air was the unasked question "Why do you think that?"

"It reminds me of my sister," Vexen said offhandedly. "For so long she was treated like nothing more than an animal or even just a curiousity because of her illness that she fell into incurable depression. She lost her entire sense of being and eventually lost her life, too,"

"That's sad," Marluxia said thoughtfully, and the remark was sincere. "Do you really think that that's happening to me?"

"It's only speculation based on your reports and what you've told me," Vexen said. "But your previous psychiatrists all said that you often exhibited extreme shifts in personality, and I've seen that as well. Right now you're relatively docile, co-operative, melancholy even. But I've seen you sarcastic and violent as well,"

"Yeah, it's called emotion," Marluxia helpfully pointed out.

"Emotion isn't all that makes up a personality, or else we'd all be the same," Vexen replied. "But there are instances in which your entire personality just shifts. I have my theories that you're masking your true self, for whatever reason,"

"What do you think the reason is?" Marluxia asked. Vexen detected actual curiousity in the boy's voice. He quickly reopened his notepad and jotted that down.

"Perhaps," He mused, "Somewhere there's a fear to show weakness. The people here know what you've done and they expect you to be some kind of cold, emotionless monster. Emotions like sadness, pain and fear wouldn't match up with their expectations,"

"But why would I want to live up to their stereotypes anyway?"

"Of course, that's where it all falls down,"

"Hm,"

They both sat in deep thought for a few moments. Eventually it was Marluxia who spoke up first.

"Unless I thought that they'd treat me differently? I mean, if they saw me scared, maybe they'd think I was weak and pathetic, and then not show me the respect I thought I deserved,"

Vexen gave him a steady look.

"I hadn't thought of that," He admitted. "Do you feel that way?"

"I don't know," Marluxia said, somewhat exasperatedly. "I've never been this introspective before,"

"No," Vexen agreed. "Very few people are,"

"What about you, then? Why do you act the way you do?"

"I was worried you might say that. I suppose a lot of it has to do with my past. Growing up with a sister who has a mental disability, you learn to be patient. But then again," He paused. "I'll admit that I did used to sometimes take advantage of that to manipulate her and those around me. I still do manipulate people."

"If you know why you do it, why don't you just stop?" Marluxia asked.

"Why don't you stop killing people?"

Marluxia shrank back, affronted.

"That was low,"

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to make the point that sometimes just because you know about certain parts of your personality doesn't mean it's easy to change them,"

"Still. Killing people isn't part of my personality. It's just something that I've done,"

"Well, yes. It was just an example. I didn't mean to offend you,"

Marluxia bit his lip, frowning, and the conversation ground to a halt.

Vexen shuffled his papers a little.

"So," Marluxia said, a little wretchedly.

"Indeed," Vexen agreed. "Could I ask you a question before I go?"

"You just did,"

"Well, yes. But aside from that,"

"Hm,"

"Why've you told me all of this?" He motioned to his stack of notes. "In just two meetings I've been able to find out more about you than any of your previous psychiatrists,"

Marluxia shrugged.

"You're different. The others already thought they knew me even before our first meeting. And besides, the fact that you'd come back to talk to me after I tried to kill you is commendable if nothing else,"

Vexen nodded, satisfied with the answer. He gathered his notes and stood.

"Thank you. I shall be back on Wednesday, if you stay out of trouble I might be able to stay for longer than just half an hour,"

"As if there's any way to get into trouble in here," Marluxia huffed, without much conviction. From the doorway, Vexen smiled.

"I shall see you then,"

A moment later Marluxia was alone, locked away again, and Vexen weaving through the empty corridors.

----

"Still working on that serial murder kid?"

Vexen turned from his notes and analysis to glance up at the new arrival. He nodded.

"Of course,"

"I remain amazed at your courage. Any normal person would have given up on him by now,"

The man, small of stature with slate grey hair framing his childish face, was nearly the physical opposite of Vexen, tall, slender and angular. However, they'd soon discovered just how similar their personalities were when they'd met. It had been five years since they'd graduated from university together, and Vexen and Zexion were still very close friends. For the time being, they cohabited, but Zexion was probably going to be moving out soon.

"I think all the others have. Not even my contractor believes I can coax those words from him in three months,"

Zexion walked around the kitchen table to the kettle, which he filled and put on the boil. Whilst he set about the other peripherals to make a cup of tea, Vexen continued to sift through his notes, comparing, evaluating, revising.

"So tell me," Zexion said as he poured water into his mug. "How far have you been getting?"

"I'm surprised. He's extremely intelligent, with a very undeveloped mental maturity, but I'd expected that,"

"So why are you surprised?"

"He's nothing of the monster the others have always made him out to be," Vexen said. He passed a sheet of paper to Zexion. "Look at that, and tell me he is irredeemable,"

Zexion's eyes flicked across the messy handwriting that Vexen had used to transcribe part of his conversation with Marluxia. Eventually he handed the notes back.

"Perhaps," He said. "But it's still such a long shot,"

Vexen sighed, filing the papers away and snapping the folder shut.

"I know. But anyway, how are you?"

Zexion pushed a cup of tea across the counter towards Vexen.

"Lexaeus and I have enough cash to buy an apartment of our own now,"

"That's great," Vexen said, taking the tea. "Got your eye on a certain one?"

"Oh, there's this little place downtown, overlooking the old canal. It's so quiet there. Perfect,"

"It'll be odd without you around to make me cups of tea," Vexen mused.

"But all going well, you'll have your very own criminal to look after soon, won't you?"

Zexion wandered out before Vexen could reply.


	4. Psychotic Reaction

It was Tuesday morning and Marluxia was in a surprisingly optimistic mood. Of course, all the other staff were treating him with as much distrust and suspicion as always, but they must have noticed that things were beginning to change.

His new little plant, for instance. It was a small, hardly flamboyant thing, but it was _his_. Nothing else had ever been his in quite the same way before.

And finally when he was chained up in handcuffs and dragged outside for his routine exercise, it wasn't raining or windy or cold, and the sun was actually peeking out from behind fluffy white clouds.

He let the police officer drag him around the grounds in the warm spring sunshine.

After a few minutes, they walked past a young brunette girl - perhaps fourteen or fifteen - who was sitting on a bench. She waved at Marluxia and he awkwardly waved back, trying to approach her, but the officer dragged him back onto the track. He smiled apologetically and she laughed.

It was the first time he'd heard anybody laugh in such a carefree manner for years.

As he was pulled away, he couldn't help but glance back at her. Every time, she smiled back, until an older woman came out of the main building and led her out of his sight.

"Do you know who she is?" Marluxia asked the officer after a while. He only glared.

That dampened his mood a little. But not much, because the sun was really beginning to shine and he had his own spider plant and Vexen was coming to visit him again tomorrow.

He made a few more good-natured attempts to talk to the officer, and it obviously threw the man, if not enough to actually get a response. It was quite fun disarming him, though.

Eventually he was stuffed back inside but it was okay because he still had his spider plant and Vexen was coming to visit tomorrow and even though it had begun to drizzle, the sun was still visible and there was a faint rainbow in the sky.

Twenty minutes later, a woman came in, handcuffed him again and dragged him out. For a few minutes he was led down the twisting building corridors, before he was pushed unceremoniously into an interrogation room. Through the darkened glass panel that lined one wall, he could see a small group of officers talking.

He listened in.

"What does his psychoanalyst say?"

"He's not been here to comment-"

"Well somebody had better get him in. If there's any chance that he'll kill again..."

"He's not acting in that kind of manner-"

"-That's why it's so disconcerting-"

"-I know he was one for mood swings, but this?"

"Perhaps he's finally losing his mind,"

"I can hear you, you know," Marluxia helpfully called out. They all turned to glance at him but apparently he was less interesting than their previous conversation, and they returned to talking in hurried whispers, although perhaps a little quieter.

"Do you think perhaps he's trying to manipulate the officers?"

"He's never made any attempt to before; why now...?

"I just don't understand why he's suddenly acting like this,"

"It's called being in a good mood," Marluxia told them helpfully. But the woman speaking simply sighed and turned to one of the thicker-set officers.

"Somebody shut him up,"

So much for being nice. The officer dealt a swift blow to his head and the last thing he remembered was lashing out desperately as black lined and swallowed his vision.

---

The next thing he remembered was dull aching and a white hospital bed. And people complaining.

He groaned, opening his eyes to squint at the two figures arguing next to his bed. One was easily recognisable as Vexen.

Marluxia felt a sudden twist in his guts. Yesterday, it must have been, when the officer knocked him out, he'd struck back. The one thing he'd been promising himself he wouldn't do. Only a couple of weeks, and he'd already let Vexen down.

The man in question was stating in no uncertain terms that Marluxia could not be held responsible for his actions as he had been provoked and it was only reasonable that one such as him would attempt to fight back, etc, etc. The officer with him wasn't looking convinced.

Marluxia closed his eyes again and rolled over, groaning at the pain that suddenly shot through his head.

How hard had he been hit yesterday?

"Careful," He heard Vexen say somewhere behind him, and thin fingers gently rolled him onto his back again. He gazed up at Vexen's worried face. In the cold, hard light of the hospital ward, the man's green eyes were glinting in a way unlike any Marluxia had seen before. Also alien to him was the compulsion to apologise.

He decided that perhaps that might be a little _too_ out of character.

"W-what happened?" He shakily asked, instead.

"You know very well what happened," The officer grunted, and there was nothing but malice in his voice.

Marluxia felt anger and indignation rise up inside him. He sprung from the bed, fully ready to defend himself, but Vexen simply pushed him back down into his pillow again.

"I don't think you quite understand," He said to the officer, calmly. "Marluxia was subject to an unprovoked attack. His response was entirely reasonable,"

"Tell that to the officer with broken ribs,"

Marluxia winced.

"He isn't the only injured one," Vexen defended.

"You can hardly compare this monster to the dedicated officers who are only trying to uphold the law,"

Marluxia felt himself coming so close to snapping with the anger that the word "monster" invoked inside him. He was _trying_, goddamn it! Why could nobody see that?

"He's a human being, just like you," Vexen was saying, hand still resting on Marluxia's chest.

"You can't have convinced yourself that. He's a murderer, a psychopath, a freak. He doesn't even deserve to live, let alone be classed as human,"

Marluxia clenched his fists to keep from blurting out in anger, nails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood.

"How will he ever learn redemption if you are constantly pushing him back down every time he tries to change?"

"That... _thing_ will never learn the error of his ways,"

That was it. With a howl, Marluxia made a mad grab for the officer, throwing self restraint to the wind.

Everything became a blur of madness and screams and this time it wasn't fun, he couldn't take pleasure in their cries and he just wanted to kill because it wasn't _fair_ and why couldn't he ever do anything right and there was a gunshot but he didn't care, and pale hands were pushing him down and all he wanted to do was get _out_ and pain and weariness washed over him and he struggled for a while out of stubbornness but something was telling him that this wasn't somebody he should be fighting against and he lay still.

Vexen's face came into focus first, worry the predominant emotion on his features. He was breathing heavily.

In his peripheral vision he saw the glint of something metallic. The gun, held by the shaking officer. Thankfully nobody seemed to be injured, just surprised and out of breath.

He realised that he'd been pushed with some force back onto the bed, Vexen pinning him down so that he couldn't move, hands gripping his wrists, the man's entire body weight on his.

Vexen took a deep breath.

"Are you going to try and attack the officer again or can I let you go?" He asked quietly, shifting his weight a little.

Marluxia glanced at the officer, who looked terrified and outraged.

"I don't trust myself," He whispered back. "Not until he's gone,"

The officer glared at him, but there was fear in his eyes now.

"I can deal with him," Vexen said. "Go,"

The officer dithered for a while, but eventually pocketed his gun and was glad to flee from the room. Vexen watched him go, then climbed off Marluxia to sit down on the chair next to the bed.

Things were silent for a while, Vexen simply watching Marluxia and Marluxia trying to avoid Vexen's gaze.

"I'm sorry," Marluxia finally whimpered when the silence became too much, and realised that he was shaking.

Vexen smiled sadly at him.

"It's not you who needs to apologise," He said quietly, brushing a strand of hair away from Marluxia's face.

"What do you mean? I attacked-"

"That man had his gun pulled and ready to fire before you'd barely even moved, with full intent to kill," Vexen gestured to a hole in the plaster on the wall where the officer had fired a bullet. "More to the point, he provoked you. He's as much to blame for what happened as you are,"

Marluxia looked up at Vexen in surprise.

"Do you really think so?"

"Somebody here needs to take an unbiased view of what's been happening to you,"

Marluxia rolled over to face the wall. His head was still throbbing and the little pinpricks of blood and pain on his palms were just as difficult to ignore.

"I don't get you, Vexen," He said at some length. "Why are you so willing to trust me? Everybody else just thinks I'm a lying, scheming monster-" He still felt himself stiffen as he heard that word, even on his own lips. "And I've never given you any reason to think differently,"

"You'd be surprised," Vexen said. "You're good at playing a regretless murderer, but you're not quite convincing enough to fool somebody who doesn't already believe that you are. Besides, if any normal teen criminal were presented with the opportunity for release from prison, they'd never admit to all the emotions you've felt. They'd want to make themselves seem as angelic as possible, and not try to convince their psychiatrist that they really were as evil as everybody else thinks they are,"

Marluxia leaned over to glance at Vexen for a minute, thinking the man was joking.

"But I'm still a murderer. You can't deny that,"

"That's not to say you can't change,"

"Do you really think I can change?"

Vexen gave him an unreadable look.

"I hope so,"

-----

Later on in the day Marluxia was carted back to his cell, dumped inside and ignored as if the three minute walk from the hospital ward constituted as his daily exercise.

When watching his plant grow got boring, he resumed attempting to wrench the bunk bed away from the wall again. He didn't get very far. His hands were still hurting from earlier, which made tugging incessantly at the bed difficult.

Eventually he ended up just sitting on the uncomfortable mattress, mulling over things.

Something was changing, he knew that. He thought back to the other times he'd killed over the years; at first, he'd done it for fun because he _could_, because he took pleasure in his victim's screams and cries, because he was always dared to do it again and again by the other kids in prison as he boasted about his crimes.

He didn't see other kids any more. It was just more autonomous visits from officers and psychiatrists... and Vexen.

There were other times when he'd retaliated in anger and, he supposed, even fear. Like yesterday and today. He wasn't meaning to hurt anybody, just lost control and automatically attacked whoever was in his way.

Marluxia shuddered involuntarily.

That scared him. The fact that he wasn't always in control of what he was doing, the fact that he could kill somebody before he even realised what he was doing.

He drew his knees up to his chest and stared morosely at the empty wall.

The possibility of spending the rest of his life locked in a padded cell was unpleasant prospect, but then again, what was the alternative? If he wanted any chance of a future back in normal society, he'd have to change. Conform to the rules and norms that he barely even knew.

That seemed pretty bleak as well. But it had to be better than being locked away without even the usual commotion of prison life to keep him amused.

He suddenly realised that he'd been thinking about the options as though he actually had a choice. But what if he didn't manage to convince Vexen in the time? He'd been trying to change for Vexen, but had still managed to seriously injure one man and come close to hurting another just by accident... Even if his conscious mind decided it didn't want to be a killer any more, it would only take one tiny mistake or powerful emotion and everything would be ruined.

Annoyance welled up inside him and he flung his pillow as hard as he could against the wall. It fell harmlessly to the floor.

This was all Vexen's fault. If it wasn't for that man, he'd never have to have worried about who he killed, he'd never _need_ to care about anybody other than him, he'd have been able to do what he wanted, and he almost certainly would not be doubting himself like he was now.

Why did Vexen have so much faith in him anyway? Everybody else had given up on him years ago.

He curled up into the smallest ball he could manage, and pulled his sheets over him, shutting out the dull light from the window.

For the first time in seven years, Marluxia cried.


	5. Claustrophobia

"Well?"

Vexen grimaced as he set the thick file down on the counter.

"Not good. He's..."

Zexion, sitting at the table when Vexen entered, looked at him expectantly. Vexen sighed, leafing through the papers without much conviction.

"He's completely insane," He finally finished at length.

"I thought we had already established that," Zexion muttered.

Vexen glanced up with a long suffering expression on his face.

"That's not perhaps what I meant. I think that he's realised that killing isn't the way forward, and I know for certain that when he injured that man yesterday it was out of fear, not malice,"

Zexion turned back to his magazine.

"If you say so. Still think there's a chance?"

"A chance, yes," Vexen replied as he pulled a yoghurt out of the fridge. "However small. I'm going to try to arrange a meeting tomorrow,"

"How you told him just how much money is tied up in this whole affair?"

"He knows a contractor is involved, but that's all,"

Zexion turned the page.

"Hm."

----

After that, Marluxia wisely kept his mouth shut whenever he was around any of the prison staff. It made things less painful, certainly, but Marluxia could never shake off that hollow feeling that perhaps if he hadn't-

No. Regret was not for him.

He waited first patiently, then with increasing agitation for Vexen to visit him again. He hadn't seen the man since the incident with the police officer, and he didn't even know if Vexen was going to come back. The thought of never seeing the strange man again left him feeling sickeningly cold and empty inside.

He was always exercised in the mid morning - now by not one, but two police officers, he'd been amused to note - so when he heard the familiar click of locks in the door in the late afternoon a few days later, his heart very nearly burst from anticipation that it might just be Vexen.

It wasn't. Three police officers came in instead, handcuffed him and led him out of the room.

Tempted to ask what was going on, Marluxia simply let them drag him through several corridors and down a staircase. After a moment, he recognised the route they were taking him. It was the way down to the old canteen where Marluxia used to eat before they decided he was too dangerous to socialise with other inmates and made him eat alone in his cell instead.

The canteen was empty bar a lone figure sitting at one of the long tables on the other side of the room, writing.

"Vexen!" Marluxia called out gleefully. The man in question looked up, and smiled, even as Marluxia was elbowed for his impoliteness by one of the officers. When he was sat down opposite Vexen, they still hovered behind him, towering.

Vexen glanced at them, and then Marluxia.

"If you try to attack anybody," He said, "Then they are under orders to shoot. Just so you know,"

"I'm handcuffed," Marluxia protested. "I can't even move,"

"Well, don't try,"

Marluxia gave Vexen a baleful glare.

"I'm sorry," Vexen said. "But they don't want to take any chances,"

"I won't attack you," Marluxia said, wondering why he bothered even as the words left his lips. Like they'd trust him.

"I know," Vexen replied, with the tiniest hint of sadness in his voice. "Now. Is there anything you wanted to talk about?"

Marluxia tugged absently at his restraints as he thought, but the movement of one of the officers in his peripheral vision made him stop.

"I still want to hurt people," He finally said. "I mean, I get the urge to. But I know I mustn't, and I can normally stop myself. It's only if I get really angry,"

"Why?"

"What?"

"Why bother? Why do you try to stop yourself?" Vexen asked.

Marluxia frowned, confused. Shouldn't he have been on that side of the argument?

"Well, it's..." For a moment he was tempted to say _it's not right_, but he'd always known that and it had never stopped him before. "You might give up on me for good if I carried on hurting people intentionally,"

Vexen wrote something down.

"This bothers you."

"Of course. I don't want to spend my whole life in a cell,"

"Is that the only reason?"

Marluxia nodded.

Of course, that wasn't quite honest. He also didn't want to let Vexen down because Vexen was Vexen, but he wasn't quite sure how to explain that, and a little embarrassed to try.

Vexen shuffled his papers.

"I have a few forms I need you to fill out," He said, "So I'll need you untied,"

One of the officers grudgingly unlocked Marluxia's right hand so he could hold the pencil Vexen gave to him. A few silent moments ticked by as Marluxia dutifully went through and ticked all the right boxes on the sheets of paper.

Eventually when he was done, he silently handed them back.

A few minutes passed as Vexen read through them, occasionally making notes. Marluxia wanted to fidget, but the looming officers behind him kept him still.

"Marluxia?"

He glanced up at Vexen, who was holding one of the forms in his hand, pen poised in the other.

"Yeah?"

"Is there anything else you'd like to say?"

The pink haired boy thought for a moment, fiddling a little with a loose sheet of paper lying on the desk.

"No," He said after some consideration, painfully aware of the men behind him. He decided to play things safe. "I don't think so,"

Vexen nodded, setting the sheet down.

"Tell me about your family," He said, suddenly. Marluxia glared at him.

"I don't have a family any more,"

"Tell me about them," Vexen repeated, unperturbed.

"What is there to tell? I had a mum, dad and little sister Naminé,"

"Tell me about Naminé, then,"

"Well, she'd have been eight when I left. She was really sweet, always kind to everybody, unlike me. She really liked art, too, although she wasn't ever very good at it. Although perhaps that was just because she was really young. I can't remember,"

"Did you get on well with her?"

Marluxia shook his head.

"I think, even though she was only young, she was the only person who saw me for who I really was. She-" Marluxia paused, yawned, and continued. "The night before I set fire to the school, she begged me not to. People will get hurt, she said. People will loose their things that won't ever be replaced. I should have listened to her. But I just did it anyway, just for a laugh,"

"So she knew, before you did it,"

"She guessed. I said I'd beat up her friends if she told anybody else. It turned out I didn't need to, because one of them died in the fire. All they found was a charred, twisted body once the flames had died down..."

That was too much detail, even for Vexen, and he raised his hand to signal Marluxia to stop.

The murderer was still there, he could see that. It was there when Marluxia talked about death so lightly, when his morbid accounts of violence were told with an undertone almost of longing. But that, he could fix. It was Marluxia's other violent side that worried him - the subconscious, fearful, defensive side that only came out when he was endangered. Of course, Marluxia had no control over that - but if people were still being hurt at the end of three months, the police would never understand.

"Did you often blackmail people like that?"

"No, it was only with Naminé. Everybody else who knew what I was really like was just too scared to admit it anyway - or wretchedly tried to justify my actions because they knew nobody would believe them if they did tell,"

Vexen nodded thoughtfully.

"Would you ever burn a building "just for a laugh" now?"

Marluxia sighed.

"I don't know," He finally said. "To be honest, I don't even know what I would or wouldn't do any more," He sank down to rest his chin on the table. "Everything's just so confusing right now,"

Vexen leaned over to pat his shoulder sympathetically, much to the horror of the guards.

"Why do you think that is?" He asked quietly.

Marluxia muttered something inarticulate. Vexen smiled imperceptibly, and stood up.

"Well, I have to leave now, but I'll be back tomorrow. Okay?"

Marluxia glanced up, and nodded. The officers wrestled Marluxia back into the handcuffs and dragged him out of the room.

When Vexen was gone, something popped.

Marluxia glared at the three officers as they tugged on his handcuffs. Like they had any right to push him around. He tugged back, hard, making one of the men stumble.

He met their cold glares with equal hatred and distrust.

"We can do this one of two ways, kid," One of them said. "The easy way, or the hard way. What's it to be?"

Marluxia growled a little.

"How about my way?"

The second officer pulled out his pistol and aimed it neatly at Marluxia's head.

"Your choice."

Marluxia chuckled sarcastically, and resumed walking.

"Fine. If you're going to all turn trigger-happy on me,"

"If I were you, I'd keep my mouth shut,"

"Yeah. Ditto."

Their irritation only made him feel marginally better, but even marginally better was better than nothing. He followed them silently down the long corridors.

After a while, he realised that they were going the wrong way.

"Where are you dragging me off to now?"

They didn't answer. Two minutes later, he was shoved unceremoniously into a cell that wasn't his. He lost his balance and fell awkwardly onto his shoulder on the hard vinyl floor.

The officer slammed the door shut and there was the sound of clicks and taps as the locks were set. Then silence.

Marluxia rolled over onto his back and stared at the murky ceiling for a long time. There was a bare, flickering light bulb, chipped plaster and an ominous looking smear down one side.

The room had no window, no furniture, no fittings. It was just four plain white walls and a securely locked door.

Suddenly Marluxia felt very claustrophobic indeed.

---

"Oh, Good Lord."

There was blood everywhere. Too much blood. It was smeared against the walls. Pooling on the floor. All over his hands.

Vexen leaned down to brush his hand across the unconscious boy's forehead. He shuddered.

"How could you let him do this to himself?"

There were claw marks on the door, and the whole area surrounding it where Marluxia had desperately tried to get out of the room.

The officer with him looked steadily at the damage. The flooring had been ripped apart, even the floorboards prised up in one corner.

"At least you ought to know by now that he's completely mentally unstable,"

"That's still no reason to just leave him alone, handcuffed in a dark, unfamiliar room," Vexen replied.

"He's a liability to himself and others where ever he is,"

"Well, that's hardly ever going to change if you don't even try to help him reform, is it?" Vexen gently lifted Marluxia into his arms. Most of his cuts had stopped bleeding now, but he was still deathly pale and cold to the touch. "And don't you dare, ever, just leave him when he's injured. At the very least, he still deserves medical care,"

The officer didn't look convinced, but stepped aside as Vexen carried Marluxia out of the cell.

The handcuffs lay broken in one corner, red with blood.

---

"V-Vexen?"

"I'm right here,"

"I thought-" A sharp intake of breath. "I thought you might be,"

Vexen smiled. He laid a gentle hand on Marluxia's bandaged one.

"How are you feeling?"

"Terrible,"

"I'm not surprised,"

"I didn't hurt anybody, did I?"

"Only yourself,"

"Good,"

A few moments ticked by, silently.

"So what happened?"

Marluxia turned his head to look at Vexen.

"I don't know," He admitted. "I panicked, I think. It's a blur,"

"Hm."

He lifted one hand to inspect the damage.

"Why does this keep on happening?" He asked quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean. You arrive, and suddenly I try to kill a police officer, twice, without even realising, and then I start having panic attacks - it's never happened before. Not like this,"

Vexen shrugged thoughtfully.

"Well. You know what they say, often things have to get worse before they can get better,"

"Yeah, but when?"

"I have faith in you,"

Vexen had opened up the heavy folder he always carried with him and was taking notes again. Marluxia sat up slowly to lean over the psychiatrist's shoulder.

"What are you writing, anyway?"

Vexen folded the notebook shut with a snap.

"I'm afraid that's confidential,"

"Oh, come on! It's about me! Don't I deserve to know?"

"It isn't very interesting," Vexen laughed, twisting around in his chair to face Marluxia. "And you ought to be lying in bed, resting,"

"Make me," Marluxia challenged playfully. Vexen raised his eyebrows, but there was the tiniest hint of a smirk on his face.

"And how do you suggest I do that?"

"I dunno," Marluxia shrugged. "I'm sure you'll think of something,"

Vexen gave him a steady look, then laid a firm hand on Marluxia's chest and simply pushed him back down. Marluxia played along, letting himself be manhandled until Vexen had turned back to his notes, only to spring up again like a jack in a box.

Vexen chuckled, and pushed him back down again.

"Seriously," He said. "You need the rest. You're in bad condition,"

Marluxia huffed but remained lying on his back. Vexen gave his stomach a friendly pat.

"See? Everything becomes so much easier when you behave,"

"I always behave," Marluxia retorted craftily, absent mindedly picking at the rough sheet by his hand.

Vexen laughed as he flicked through pages of notes, transcripts and reports.

"You know what I mean," He murmured. He glanced at the clock. It was nearing midday. "I have to go now,"

"You're coming back, right?" Marluxia asked quietly. Vexen didn't miss the uncertainly creeping into his voice.

"Of course," He replied. "On Wednesday,"

"And what day is it today?" Marluxia asked. Vexen glanced back at him in surprise. "What? I always loose track of the days,"

Vexen shook his head, smiling.

"Nothing. You just suddenly reminded me of somebody I know," He glanced at his watch to check the date. "It's Saturday,"

"Three chances to guess who I remind you of?"


	6. Progress

"Two months."

"Uh huh,"

They were back in Marluxia's old cell, sitting next to each other on the floor, the old blankets and sheets pulled down from Marluxia's bed to make themselves a little more comfortable.

Marluxia yawned and stretched, leaning against the wall.

"I still think I should have got a medal for not beating the ever-loving crap out of that officer when he tried to suggest making me cut my hair,"

Vexen sighed with resignation. Some things, he'd come to realise, would never change.

"Well, it is getting a little unruly,"

The tips of Marluxia's pink locks were nearing halfway down his back, a tangled, knotted mess because he could never be bothered to brush his hair.

"I like it," Marluxia replied defensively.

"I wasn't implying that you ought to cut it all off," Vexen said. "But perhaps a few inches shorter would look better and be easier to look after, too,"

"Your hair's just as long as mine," Marluxia pointed out, reaching over to tug at Vexen's long, blonde hair. The psychiatrist gently batted him away, chuckling.

"Yes, but I brush mine,"

"You just have _way_ too much spare time on your hands,"

"And who spends twenty three hours of the day locked up in a cell with nothing to do?"

"Touché."

"I've been thinking," Vexen said after a lengthy pause. "That you need something to do with your time."

"What, aside from lie in bed, thinking? Perish the thought," Marluxia replied dully, rearranging the sheets beneath him and sinking down to rest his back on the floor.

"And me visiting you,"

"Yeah, but that's only for two hours a day,"

"Precisely. Now, of course you're still not allowed to socialise with others - which, I think, is completely ridiculous, but you could still do one of the simpler educational courses."

"What's the point? Fifty - fifty I won't even get out of here,"

"Just because you might not doesn't mean that you won't," Vexen pointed out. He reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a leaflet. "Botany. That's something you're interested in, isn't it?"

Marluxia looked at the leaflet. It was advertising some kind of qualification on that subject.

"Of course, you'll have to do a lot of the learning yourself, from textbooks. You'll compile a folder for coursework, and at the end there'll be an exam. I think you can do it in about a month, maybe a month and a half,"

Marluxia considered it.

"Yeah," He said, finally. "Okay. Sure. It'll while away the time, I suppose,"

Vexen smiled.

"I'm glad," He commented thoughtfully. "I worry about you, you know,"

"Pah," Marluxia replied. "Don't bother. I'm strong enough to look after myself,"

"Maybe." Vexen muttered under his breath, so quietly that Marluxia couldn't hear.

Two weeks passed, and Marluxia threw himself headlong into his new project, Vexen was pleased to note. He had three textbooks; one with an extensive list of plant species, one with explanations of theory, and one with exam questions and the like for Marluxia to practice. Whenever Vexen came to visit, at least one of them was already open, the pink haired boy working diligently through it.

He had to explain a lot of things to Marluxia. It wasn't that he was unintelligent; in fact, quite the opposite; but he simply didn't know anything and a lot of the vocabulary used in the books was just too complex for him to understand. Vexen was happy to put it in simpler terms for him, and watch with a smile as Marluxia translated on the paper in his child's scrawl-handwriting.

They still talked about petty crime, murder and rape, but more and more Vexen's visiting time for Marluxia came to be taken up by the new course in botany. At first, Marluxia tried to maintain that this was just because he had nothing better to do, but he came to realise that he was fooling nobody, even himself, in his act and thus fell upon all new knowledge with enthusiasm.

Eventually Vexen did risk bringing along a pair of scissors and a comb to one of their meetings, and was pleasantly surprised that Marluxia let him cut his unruly hair. They took a lot off, leaving it (somewhat badly) layered and hanging, fluffy, around his shoulders.

Marluxia liked it better that way.

"You know, I could almost pass off as a respectable citizen," He said as he inspected his reflection in the window.

The comment had made Vexen smile. He didn't even need reports and analysis to see Marluxia's progress. He was still sarcastic and cynical at the best of times, but the contempt was all but gone from his actions. Now when he laughed, he laughed because he was amused, and his smiles were no longer cruel but genuinely good-natured.

It was a pity that the chances were he'd never be set free.

----

With one month to go, Vexen managed to persuade the authorities into taking Marluxia out of the prison for a day trip.

"Hey, Marluxia. Wake up. I have a surprise for you,"

"Huh? What?"

"I said-ah!"

Damn, Marluxia could move fast, and suddenly Vexen wasn't on the second step up to the bunk bed any more, but lying on the floor, the boy on all fours above him, pinning him down.

"Oh, it's you. You of all people ought to know better than try to startle a serial murderer awake," He said, making no move to release Vexen from his restraint.

"I wasn't expecting you to wake up quite so quickly,"

"Idiot," Marluxia murmured, without much conviction, lying heavily on Vexen, tangled hair tickling his face, hands still gripping his wrists.

"As I was saying," Vexen continued, "Before you decided that I'd make a good replacement bed, is that I have a surprise for you,"

"What's that?" Marluxia mumbled next to his ear.

"I have permission to take you out of the prison for today."

Marluxia laughed bitterly.

"One final romp before they lock me up for life, huh?"

"I just thought you'd like a treat," Vexen replied. "Besides, you need a case study for your coursework."

"Case study?" Marluxia immediately perked up. "You mean..."

"There's an extensive wildlife reserve about an hour's drive from here. Of course, hardly anybody ever visits it, which is perfect for our purposes."

Marluxia sat up.

"You're being serious?"

"Of course I am. Now do you really need to sit on my stomach like this?"

Marluxia considered the question for a moment.

"Yes. You're surprisingly comfortable for a bony old man,"

"I'm not that old!"

Eventually Marluxia did get off, get dressed and let himself be loaded into the back of a truck with Vexen.

"Are there going to be guards stalking us all day?" Marluxia asked as he flicked through his sketchbook.

"No. It'll be just you and me as soon as we reach the reserve. But we'll be handcuffed together to stop you running away, and I'll also have tranquillisers just in case."

Marluxia shrugged.

"Fair enough,"

They reached the reserve in good time. The handcuffs were clipped on and locked, the only key left with the guards.

"You realise that I could still kill you?" Marluxia said as they walked, holding up his cuffed arm. There was about two or three feet of chain between the two of them, allowing for enough movement so as to be unrestrictive. Also enough to, say, strangle whoever was on the other end of the cuff.

"Yes, but then you'd have to lug my dead body around. Unless you found a sharp rock or something, and managed to hack my right hand off," Vexen replied, for all the world serious.

"Hm. A bit messy, that," Marluxia agreed thoughtfully. "Maybe I'll let you live, after all,"

Vexen laughed.

"Some things will never change,"

The sun shone gloriously through the dappled shade of the trees as they stopped by a vast lake for lunch.

Marluxia could name every single plant in sight, despite never having seen most of them before. He stole Vexen's camera and took photos of some of them, picked a few of the most common flowers to press between two sheets of card in his thick sketchbook, drew every single one that he came across.

"Naminé must have been really good at drawing," He said, as he finished colouring in an evening primrose flower. "I mean, for an eight-year-old. I wonder what she's doing now. Art at GCSE, I suppose,"

"You still think about her a lot, then," Vexen said thoughtfully as he watched Marluxia draw. There was no psychopathic murderer here. Anyone could see that.

"Well, there's not exactly much else to do,"

"True."

Their meal was nothing more than sandwiches and fruit, but that didn't stop Marluxia enjoying it under the sunshine, toes just dipping into the cold water at the edge of the lake.

They had a good day.

"I'm not going to get out, am I," Marluxia said as the sun began to sink low in the sky. "That's got to be why you brought me out here. So I could enjoy myself one last time. There can't be another reason for it,"

Vexen sighed.

"I'll admit that the chances are still small. There's a whole list of criteria you have to meet and you've fulfilled just under a half of them so far... but that's not to say there's no chance. You just have to keep working at it. I think you can do it,"

Marluxia chuckled.

"Then why don't you just tell me what they are? I can fulfil them all that way. Don't bother answering,"

"I'm afraid I'm under heavy restraints as well. In the end, we're all just pawns in the game, after all."

"Hey! You're beginning to sound just like me,"

"Perish the thought,"

"Oh, just admit it. We're both rubbing off on each other,"

"I'll be expecting you to start analysing me any minute now, then,"

"Yeah, and then maybe you'll find out just how annoying it is. Ever considered that maybe I don't _want_ people to understand me?"

"I think that you do," Vexen said. "Deep down, you want people to know your inner feelings and motives. Because then, if that person understood and still accepted you for who you were, you wouldn't be so alone."

Marluxia stared at Vexen for a moment, before glancing away, back to his sketchbook of floral illustrations.

"How the hell did you pull that out your arse so fast?"

"I am a psychiatrist. I'm right, aren't I?"

Marluxia frowned, turning the page.

"I... I don't know. Sometimes I feel like you know more about me than I do,"

"I don't know more, I just understand it better. Most of it, anyway. Parts of you still baffle me," Vexen replied, looking out across the lake. The sun, on the other side, was fat and red as it slowly inched its way towards the horizon.

"Yeah, well, it wouldn't be any fun if you just understood everything, now would it?"

---

Only a few days later, and already Marluxia was yearning for the sweet, natural smell of the outdoors, the feeling of grass beneath his feet and the warm sun beating down on him as he sat, listlessly, in his cell.

He worked a little on his coursework, but it was all but finished now and he was pretty certain that he'd covered everything he needed to know for the exam. He resumed attempting to tug the bed away from the wall. All he succeeded in doing was making it creak ominously. He did manage to pull a splinter away, though, which he used to rip holes in his mattress and fling the foam all over the floor.

It made trying to sleep really uncomfortable, but he liked the mess. It was cosy, and human.

Vexen didn't really understand.

"You can't just destroy things because you like mess," He said, with a long-suffering sigh, as he picked up the lumps of foam to give them back to Marluxia so he could attempt to restuff his mattress.

"Well, I _can_,"

"People will think you're crazy,"

"I am. Help me fit this foam back in?"

"I don't know if the bed will take both our weight."

"Sure it will. I've spent hours wrenching at this thing and it still won't break. Besides, you're so skinny you must practically weigh nothing,"

Vexen reluctantly picked up the last of the foam and climbed onto the bed where Marluxia was battling it back into the shredded mattress.

"With any luck, the officers won't notice. If they find out you've been destroying things, no doubt they'll make you move do a padded cell, or something,"

"Why do you think I'm trying to restuff this goddamn mattress?" Marluxia asked sarcastically. "Look, you missed some foam,"

He climbed over the rail to jump down to the floor.

Finally, with a creak, the bed majestically collapsed until it was lying diagonally against the opposite wall, Vexen still sitting on it, expression a little surprised.

Marluxia crawled out from underneath it.

"You were saying about destroying things?"

"Yes. I do believe I was. Do you listen to _anything_ I say?"

"Oh, come on, it's not that bad. It's just fallen over. We can fix it. Look."

Marluxia gave one post of the old bed frame a resolute kick as Vexen uncertainly climbed off the mattress. The wood split in half and the leg toppled the last foot or two to the floor.

"Okay, maybe not. Heh."

Vexen shook his head in resignation.

"You're terrible, you know that?"

"I know, I know. How about we don't tell the police that we broke the bed trying to fix it, instead... I've got it. We broke the bed - accidentally, of course - whilst having really, _really_ vigorous sex."

"Marluxia, that's _worse_!"

"I was raping you, then. Vigorously."

"How about you just shut up and stand in that corner there, whilst _I_ explain?"

"Okay. But please, please say we were having sex. I just want to see the look on the officer's face."

"No."

"You're such a prude,"

"No, I'm just sensible."

"Same thing!"

---

Somehow, Vexen managed to explain the matter of the bed to the utterly confused police officers, without mentioning sex (Marluxia assumed), but he was still moved to a new room.

It was the same as the old one, more or less, but was missing just a few of those homely touches that had made Marluxia's old cell his; the blood splatters on the walls, for one.

But it was also a nice, clean, blank slate from which to work on. And white walls and black pens simply begged to be used for all kinds of artistic excellences...

---

"Why have you scrawled my name all over the wall?"

"Vexen, you just don't understand the nuances of fine art. See, this is _my_ half of the wall, with all of my stuff on it, and this is _your_ half. I figured that I probably couldn't convince you to draw all over a wall, so I filled it all in for you,"

"Well, you've left out a lot of things,"

"I still don't know much about you. I had to extrapolate from what I had."

"Ah. That explains why you've written "prude" in big letters, right in the middle. Pass the pen,"

"What?"

"I have some corrections to make,"

---

They must have spent an hour or more writing on the wall; notes, words, sketchy drawings, until eventually they were forced to stop not because of lack of space - they'd probably have moved onto the ceiling if necessary - but because the pens ran out.

Marluxia sat back and admired their handiwork.

"I'm sure you shouldn't be encouraging me to do things like this,"

Vexen shrugged, attempting to eek out the last droplets of ink from the final pen to write "refuses to brush hair" on Marluxia's side of the wall.

"It's just a bit of harmless fun. Better than killing people, at any rate,"

"True, true. Do you really spend that long playing video games every day?"

"Uh huh. Well, it was a few months ago, but my flatmate Zexion decided to actually time how much I spent on video games and then calculate the mean over about three weeks. It must have been just before I started working with you, so it's probably dropped a little since then. You've kept me very busy,"

"Zexion? He's gonna be living with us too?" Marluxia asked. "If I get out," He quickly added.

"No, he's moving out next week, actually. It'll be strange without him there to make me cups of tea,"

"I'd make you cups of tea," Marluxia mumbled before his brain caught up with his mouth. "Yeah, and spike them with cyanide,"

"You're not fooling anybody," Vexen said, ruffling Marluxia's still-unruly hair.

"Don't bet on it. I may still spike your drinks with cyanide,"


	7. And Wait

The exam came and went. In fact, a lot of things came and went unnoticed - and if noticed, uncared for, because Marluxia's eighteenth birthday was inching closer and so too was his final judgement. Heaven or hell, sink or swim, fall or fly; it made Marluxia shiver with anticipation and agitation whenever he thought about it.

He thought about it a lot. Vexen still only visited for a few hours a day, and that equated to a lot of spare thinking time.

He wasn't optimistic. Vexen was evasive about the subject, and if Marluxia really had met - or was going to meet - all the criteria, or whatever, then he would have said so. And he hadn't.

Marluxia didn't want to imagine that his future - after everything that had happened - was going to equate to a lifetime of drugs, straight jackets and padded cells. Not now he'd even finished an entire qualification. Found somebody he could talk to - somebody he _liked_, experienced the beauty of wildlife and nature, and _still_ would be locked up forever, until he grew old and died, alone and insane and forgotten. Even Vexen would move on, to another case, another troublemaker, and he would just be one more failure in a long line.

The nightmares came thick and fast, and he would wake up drenched in cold sweat, screaming.

He wanted to go home. He wanted there to _be_ a home to go to, anywhere but this cold, lifeless, sterile place and nothing but promises of more, more, more, stretching out into infinity until finally he would one day fall asleep and never again wake up.

Sometimes the nightmares crept up on him even when he was awake, and he'd have to curl up in a tiny ball, shivering and sobbing until he could stamp out the terrible images and memories of things to come.

There was no escaping from his own conscience, once dormant for so long, now unlocked.

Amazingly, they never happened when Vexen was around, and Marluxia didn't tell him about them. He didn't want the psychiatrist thinking he was psychotic and better off in the loony bin, after all. He wanted to be free. He _yearned_ for the sun on his back, the wind in his hair, the grass beneath his feet...

---

A week before the deadline, Vexen came in to find Marluxia hunched over in his chair, a sombre expression on his face.

"What's wrong?" He immediately asked, crouching down to look at the boy through the mop of dusty pink hair. Marluxia's eyebrows - already furrowed - knitted together even more.

"I'm not going to do it," He muttered, quietly, as though he didn't want to admit it.

Vexen sat down on the floor to look directly into those cold, azure eyes.

"Why do you think that?" he asked gently, placing one hand on Marluxia's knee.

"You're being so evasive!" Marluxia blurted out before he could stop himself. "If I had any chance at all of getting out of this stupid prison, you'd have told me!"

Vexen sighed.

"Marluxia, if I was certain, I'd tell you-"

"You're not! You don't think I'm changing! You still don't _trust_ me!"

"If you'll hear me out," Vexen calmly continued. "You're not the only factor featuring in this, you know. It's all very well me thinking you've got the criteria covered, but if my contractors disagree, then there's nothing I can do. So all either of us can do is try. Right?"

Marluxia just shook his head, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"It's not just that," he muttered. "Goddamn you! You're making this so difficult for me!"

Vexen frowned. "Why do you say that?" He asked. "You know I'm just trying to help,"

Marluxia glared sideways at the wall.

"It's not that," He said, a little uncertainly. "It's just... Goddamnit, I can't... _not_..." And he trailed off into incoherence.

Vexen reached up to gingerly tuck a stray strand of hair behind Marluxia's ear, and suddenly found his wrist caught in a vice like grip.

"Bah. I never had a chance, anyway," Marluxia said, his voice showing a little more of that old, cocky confidence.

And then he pushed Vexen down onto the floor with a strength it was easy to forget he had, reaching out to grab the other wrist, pinning his legs down so that Vexen couldn't struggle, and then leaned close and kissed him, at first gingerly, then deeper. There was desperation in each kiss, and helpless, pent up lust.

Surprised - although he really ought to have been expecting it, Vexen opened his mouth to accept Marluxia in, kissing back softly and warmly.

The action threw Marluxia completely. He tore himself away from Vexen, eyes wide with shock.

"What are you-?!"

Vexen seized the opportunity to pull himself from Marluxia's loosened hands, and reach up to kiss him again.

Even if he had half-expected it, he had not expected it to feel this _good_.

Marluxia was recovering a little from the shock of one of his rape victims actually _enjoying_ it, and changed his posture so that he was more... _curled up_ in Vexen's outstretched arms, leaning closer, hungrily.

For a single, beautiful moment, the deal didn't matter, the prison didn't matter, _nothing_ in the world could happen to stop either of them now and they kissed, came together in rare, perfect unison.

It was the single best moment of Marluxia's life.

When, finally, they parted with more lingering kisses, Vexen took a moment to study Marluxia. Caught in a situation he hadn't expected, nor could control, he quivered with uncertainty and tension, as though simply wanting to wait for events to play out around him until he was in more familiar ground. But another side, in his eyes and his slightly parted lips, yearned for more.

It was rare that Marluxia's expression could be so open that Vexen could read him like a book.

"What," He finally whispered, crumpling into Vexen's chest, "Was that?"

Vexen shrugged and didn't reply. What was there to say?

Marluxia's voice faltered a little, in new and unexpected territory.

"Why did you do that?"

"I simply do what it occurs to me to do," Vexen replied softly. Why were they whispering all of a sudden? It was a question even he couldn't answer.

He lifted one hand to gently detangle Marluxia's matted hair, and the boy shuddered at first at the touch, then lay limp in his arms.

After a while, Marluxia chuckled.

"You're crazy, Vexen,"

Vexen didn't need to know that he savoured the man's name on his lips, and insanely hoped that Vexen would - somehow - do the same.

---

The night before his birthday, Vexen stayed with him a little longer, until dusk set in.

Marluxia worried - _feared_, so much - that that was because this was the last time they were going to get to be together again.

"I'm not going to get out, am I," He said quietly once the other conversations faded to a halt. He was lying on the floor, head resting in Vexen's lap.

Things had become a lot more... intimate after Marluxia had attempted - and failed - to rape Vexen.

Vexen shrugged.

"I might be able to do a little fiddling with the figures and transcripts. But..." He sighed. "It's still only a chance,"

He knew that Marluxia had been expecting that answer, but it didn't ease his conscience any more.

"I screwed it all up last week, didn't I? When I tried to... you know..."

Vexen shook his head.

"I decided to leave that out of the official documents. So it's just our little secret, okay?"

"Why?"

"Why did I leave it out? Well, either way, one of us would have been incriminated for what we did. Put it one way, and you'd be a rapist. Put it the other, and I'd be a paedophile and lose my job."

"Oh yeah, I'm still seventeen, aren't I," Marluxia said. Still, that didn't help much. It meant that without even that ugly mar, he still wasn't good enough to leave.

"I'll miss you," He said after a while.

"Save the goodbyes for when we know the verdict,"

---

When Zexion came in, Vexen was scribbling furiously, sheets of endlessly rewritten and revised papers and notes scattered all over the kitchen table.

Finally, just as the tea was ready to pour, Vexen let out an exasperated yell and flung his pen, hard, across the table and against the wall. It clattered, broken and spilling ink, to the floor.

"It's no good," He moaned. "Criteria 13. I just can't make it work."

Zexion gave Vexen a concerned look, but said nothing.

"He's showing all the signs, and has been for a long time. But I need confirmation,"

"He kissed you, didn't he?" Zexion asked. "Surely that's confirmation enough..."

Vexen shook his head.

"I had to leave that out. It's not legal, if consensual. And they'd never understand, anyway. I can't see how anything short of an actual confession could fulfil this,"

Zexion sat down next to Vexen, passing him a cup of tea as a friendly gesture. Vexen sipped it, distractedly.

"It's so annoying," He finally said. "Marluxia has every other criteria covered, more or less. And he'll still be locked up for life because of a single, damned pitfall. I've failed him."

Zexion sighed.

"You ought to consider it a miracle, anyway, that you managed to do what you did. Think about what he was like three months ago,"

"I should have tried harder," Vexen continued miserably.

"At least you made him happy for a few months,"

"He wasn't happy," Vexen said. "He tried to be, but he wasn't. I'm sure that he was having nightmares, panic attacks... He spent his last relatively free time plagued by his own past and conscience,"

"You mustn't be so hard on yourself," Zexion said. "It's not your fault. You did all you could."

Vexen sighed, leaning heavily on the table.

"I can't do it," He said, finally. "I can't walk into this god-forsaken cell tomorrow and tell him that he's failed, that he's going to spend the rest of his pathetic life delirious from drugs, trapped, bound and tied, until the day he dies, all because of some _stupid_ stipulation that shouldn't even apply!"

"Have some more tea," Zexion said kindly. Vexen complied. It scalded his tongue and the roof of his mouth, but he ignored the feeling.

"He loves me," He said at length. "He loves me, and he doesn't even know. He doesn't understand _why_ he wants to be with me or enjoys my company, and he never will, because he has nobody to explain his emotions to him."

Zexion stood, slowly. Vexen wasn't going to be persuaded to cheer up.

"Do you love him?" He asked.

Vexen glanced up in surprise, for once lost for words.

"I..."

There was no point in putting up fronts of bravado now, this late in the game.

"... Of course I do."

---

He awoke, sobbing, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. Even after he'd calmed down a little, his hands still shook, reminding him of his acute weakness, even now.

It was funny. He was convinced that he hadn't slept at all that night for fear and worry, and still the lingering nightmares were there, images of him, old and broken, tied in a stark white straight jacket, lying on a stark white floor in a stark white mental institution. Vexen on the outside, with some other man, laughing, gorgeous as ever and he, forgotten. It was worse than death.

They exercised him at nine, as always, and he took his time to enjoy the outdoors air, even if it wasn't as fresh as in the reserve, imagine the soft texture of the grass, even if he was wearing tattered trainers, search for the birds in the sky, even if there were none.

He imagined them, instead, pin wheeling and dancing intricate aerobatics in the sky.

Then he was dragged back inside and forced to sit, alone, in his cell, and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

And-

A click at the door had him jumping up from his station on the end of the bed in surprise. But when Vexen came in, his expression was sombre.

Marluxia deflated into the chair, head in his hands.

"I didn't do it, did I," He whispered, trying desperately to will his voice not to crack. Just because he was falling apart inside didn't mean that he had to lose face in front of Vexen, as well.

Two men were behind him, in stark white laboratory coats.

Vexen walked over to kneel next to Marluxia.

"I'm sorry," He murmured.

"It's not your fucking fault," Marluxia hissed, not trusting his voice to speak any louder.

He felt a cold hand on his, and shook, armrests gripped hard enough to leave dents in the old wood.

Then Vexen stood again and Marluxia knew it was over. No more Vexen. No more chances. No more soft kisses falling on his lips like rain, no more long, crazy conversations, no more mind games, no more goddamn analysis.

He simply let himself be pulled from the chair by the men, trapped in their arms, handcuffs clipped on behind his back. What was the point of resisting now?

Nobody spoke as he was led to the door. Vexen collected the spare clothes, the sketchbook and pens, the considerably larger spider plant and its children together on a little tray on the windowsill.

More people were waiting outside; a whole parade of them, all the same, in identical white coats. They must have been expecting him to fight more, or something.

He tried to say goodbye to Vexen but the words caught in his throat and refused to tumble out. His eyes stung with tears, vision a little blurred.

He'd thought about it a lot. There hadn't really been a tipping point between _no_ and _maybe_ and _yes_, he'd just been thinking and thinking and thinking so hard that it was either stupid, or true, or both.

He thought that he might have been falling in love with Vexen.

It explained a lot - why he could never get the other man off his mind, why he was always so much _happier_ around him, why the only thing that horrified him more than being locked up forever was being locked up forever _without Vexen_...

He didn't voice those thoughts. Vexen would laugh.

But he suddenly realised that, sink or swim, fall or fly, he'd never have another chance.

"Vexen," He said, forcing horror from the pit of his stomach down, just so he could speak. "I... I'll miss you,"

Vexen smiled a little, and drew close enough to touch his arm.

"Yeah. I'll miss you too,"

And he turned, slowly, and began to walk away.

"Wait!" Marluxia called, desperately. "Vexen!"

Vexen stopped, but didn't turn around. There was no noise, anywhere, the stoic figures around him like statues, merely observing through cold, empty eyes.

"Don't go," Marluxia continued. "Don't leave. _Please_. I...

...I love you,"

Vexen spun back round to face Marluxia, hair flying, eyes wide. They were already beginning to drag him away, never to be seen again.

Confirmation…

"Wait." He said.

They stopped.

"Criteria 13: The subject must be capable of feeling, and expressing, the emotion of love," Vexen intoned dully.

Marluxia's head snapped up, shock showing on his features beneath the long fringe hanging in his eyes and tears streaking down his cheek.

"You mean...?" He whispered, voice just seconds from breaking.

"Let him go. He comes with me."

"Sir," One of the coated men tried to protest. "We need confirmation-"

"Confirmation? You heard him!"

They had no choice but to release their hold of him, and he stumbled forwards.

"I will be in touch with Mr Heartista in due course to secure the contract."

The handcuffs clattered hollowly on the floor.

"Marluxia?"

"Y-yeah?"

A chaste, gentle kiss.

"I love you too,"


	8. Epilogue

Marluxia stumbled in through the front door, laughing, and kicked off his shoes, flinging them in the general direction of the hall table.  
"Hey, Vexen!" He called, leaning on the doorframe to tip his body to a dangerously precarious angle. "_Vexen_!"  
He turned to his companion, a petite girl made up for by her attitude, shrugging.  
"He might be out. He works crazy hours. Vexe~en!"  
"I'm coming!" Somebody out of sight yelled, and a moment later a very tall, very thin, very pale man staggered down the stairs under a huge pile of books. Marluxia quickly relieved the older man of his burden, only to dump them carelessly and unceremoniously on the floor to more or less topple himself into Vexen's arms.  
"Kiss me," He demanded, like an overgrown toddler, and Vexen grudgingly replied with the kiss of a man who knew his lover well. Marluxia, satisfied, pulled away and turned back to his friend, still holding onto Vexen almost possessively.  
"Hey, Larxene. Come in. Vexen doesn't bite,"  
"That's not what you said last night," Vexen murmured in Marluxia's ear as Larxene made herself welcome in the small apartment.  
"Vexen, right? Marluxia's told me all about you." She held out her hand with her introduction, grinning. Vexen nodded at her, eyes flicking briefly to her hand, and back again.  
"I take it you are Larxene. Ditto."  
He reached out himself to shake his hand, but was unable as she pulled hers away.  
"Nuh uh-uh!" She teased, replacing her hand after a moment. "No, seriously. It's good to finally meet you."  
Vexen took it, carefully inspecting each detail - long, neatly painted nails, soft and pale skin, fading notes on the back of her hand - black biro. He couldn't help the habitual psychoanalysis.  
"And you." He returned his gaze to her eyes - teal, baby-wide. She was wearing make up, but only a little - more of a fashion statement than an attempt to hide blemishes or a low self esteem. This was a young lady who knew she was beautiful. "Do come inside."  
He broke the shake, closing the door behind her.  
"Thanks."  
"Something to drink?"  
"What is there?"  
"Marluxia will show you around. I have a few things to finish up. When are you going out?"  
Marluxia finally detached himself from Vexen to pull Larxene into the kitchen.  
"In about an hour,"  
"Thanks."  
Vexen picked up his books and disappeared into the front room, picking up a pen along the way.  
As Marluxia poured a glass of apple juice for himself and his friend, Larxene made herself comfortable in one of the stools along the counter.  
"I have to admit," He said, "He is pretty."  
Marluxia glanced furtively at the doorway before returning to his drink, straddling the stool next to Larxene's.  
"Damn right he is," He stated in no uncertain terms. "He's gorgeous."  
Larxene laughed.  
"You really are obsessed, aren't you?"  
Marluxia pushed her amiably in the shoulder, and she almost lost her balance, still laughing. Marluxia giggled too, yawning and stretching.  
"I guess I am,"  
"So is he a good kisser?"  
"He kisses back," Marluxia said thoughtfully. "I guess that's an improvement on the others."  
He'd told Larxene a bit about his past - a watered down version - some time ago; he hadn't felt it right for her to be oblivious to the things he'd done, since they were, more or less, best friends. Of course everybody knew that he'd had a rough childhood, but Larxene and a few teachers were the only ones who knew what that had entailed - and not even the full story. Only Vexen and Marluxia knew of the things he'd done while he was in prison.  
His comment made Larxene laugh.  
"Oh, you're cute. You should get around more, you know that."  
"Why would I want to?" Marluxia asked airily. "I have Vexen. He's everything I want."  
"Everything?"  
Marluxia paused to take a sip of his juice.  
"By everything I mean he knows just how much of a fucked up shit I am and loves me anyway."  
"I love you anyway," Larxene said reproachfully, just as the telephone rang. Marluxia ignored it, and a moment later there was a click as Vexen took the call in another room.  
"Yeah, but I was actually _seriously_ fucked up when Vexen first met me. I don't mean that I'd done fucked up stuff. I was still doing fucked up stuff and he was the only person that believed that there was anything more to me than... well, than fuck."  
"Deep." Larxene murmured, serious for all the world. "He must really love you."  
"Yeah." Marluxia replied. "For a while, I thought he just said all those things for the money-"  
"- The money?"  
"He got two and a half million pounds for managing to get me out of jail. I thought I told you about that."  
Larxene shook her head.  
"You never said a word. But two and a half million? That's crazy shit. Why are you cooped up in this little apartment? Think about what two million quid could buy you..."  
"He gave a lot of it to charity," Marluxia explained. "The rest he's saving for a rainy day. He doesn't get paid often. Commissions can last years with him before he gets a penny."  
"Wow." Larxene said quietly. "He must be really amazing."  
"He is." Marluxia replied petulantly.  
Larxene laughed again, chucking her plastic tumbler into the sink before returning to her best friend's side.  
"So, tell me why you're doing this. I think I deserve to know."  
Marluxia glanced up.  
"I need closure." He said. "Naminé... I was supposed to be her big brother. I don't give a shit about my parents, but I must have ruined her life back then. The least I can do is apologise."  
Larxene - who was part of a very close-knit extended family, frowned.  
"Why not your parents?"  
"They disowned me," Marluxia said simply, his voice devoid of emotions. "As soon as they found out about the things I'd done - they didn't try to talk to me about it. Hell, they refused to even talk to me at all. It was as if I was never their son. They never went to court, even just to watch me, and they never visited me in the detention centre. Not once. I remember being sat down in a room, the other kids all with their families and me, alone. Eleven-fucking-years-old."  
"Bastards." Larxene muttered with feeling. "God knows I hate my family sometimes but they're _family_. You don't do stuff like that to family."  
Marluxia shrugged.  
"I got over it."  
"Naminé not so much?" Larxene guessed with a wry smile, leading Marluxia out into the front room where they would pretend to revise before leaving the building again.  
"Not so much." Marluxia agreed. "She was really nice, for an eight year old. I was a selfish brat."  
"You can be really self depreciating sometimes, you know that," Larxene commented, snuggling up on the sofa next to Marluxia. They were close like that, but it was okay because Larxene was a lesbian and Marluxia was so obsessed with Vexen that he'd never even consider a relationship with anyone else.  
"Yeah, well, I'm not exactly a nice guy, am I?"  
"I think you are," Larxene said reproachfully.  
Marluxia shrugged, grabbing the remote and switching the TV to some random channel. The ensuing war for the remote was inevitable, but he enjoyed it just the same as, laughing, he wrestled Larxene to the floor, easily stronger than her but perhaps not quite so vicious. He didn't take things for granted any more.  
Eventually they had to leave; it was only a short bus route to the neighbouring town, and then a fifteen or so minute walk to the café where they'd agreed to meet Naminé.  
It was Larxene, in fact, who had stumbled across her on the internet by complete coincidence, and put her in touch with Marluxia. They'd talked a little to each other on MSN but eventually decided that they needed to meet in person. From what Marluxia had gathered, their parents knew nothing of their contact.  
Marluxia was rarely nervous; he bumbled his way around normal life with cocky arrogance and cheeky charm that people who didn't know him could be forgiven for mistaking as innocence. But today, he was nervous, scratching aimlessly at the decorative metal band clipped around his wrist (a disguised electronic tag) as he sat by the window of the café. Larxene had taken it upon herself to order milkshakes.  
Honestly, he had no idea what to expect. He hadn't seen any of his family for nearly eight years, and you couldn't really tell much about another person in just a wall of text: so he had no clue whatsoever who was going to be walking in through the door in five minutes or so.  
He didn't really notice when Larxene swept over to take a seat by his side, pushing a garishly pink milkshake that matched his hair in front of him.  
"Relax, babe. You're stiffer than an itchy boner."  
The joke broke his reverie and he giggled, picking up his spoon and stirring the milkshake aimlessly. It was one of those ones served up in a tall, thin glass, with a spoon that was almost - but not quite - long enough to touch the bottom. To stir properly required a lot of skill and creative handling.  
"What's the time?"  
"You have one minute to go, if that's what you're asking,"  
He took a sip from the milkshake. It was nice, but he couldn't really credit it any further.  
"Okay."  
In fact, it was about ten seconds before five o'clock that Naminé bustled in, all hurriedly clipped back hair and bad co ordination, a sketchbook in her arms. She was wearing a white smock over a pair of skinny jeans, and sandals (Marluxia, having spent seven years wearing hideous orange jumpsuits and itchy prison uniforms, always noticed clothes). She spotted Marluxia, waved a little, and hurried over.  
"H-hey."  
"Hi."  
After that Marluxia didn't really know what to say.  
"Nice weather, huh?"  
Naminé chuckled.  
"It's nice to see you again too, Marly."  
Marluxia let out a little, tense sigh, and nodded.  
"Yeah. So... how have you been?"  
Naminé's smile fell a bit, and she fiddled with the spine of her notepad a bit while mentally composing a reply.  
"Well... not so good. Mum and Dad got divorced after you... left. We moved out of the area because their reputation was pretty much ruined, but things didn't really mend. Mum used to get so angry if ever either of us even mentioned you or said your name. Dad took to drink..."  
Marluxia let his head hang. So that was another family he'd ripped apart with his own callous selfishness.  
"I am so sorry."  
Naminé placed a gentle hand on his, smiling sadly.  
"It's okay. They only made it worse."  
"I want to say sorry anyway," Marluxia persisted. "For everything I did back then. I was stupid, and I should have listened to you. If I could change the past, honestly... I would."  
"You were young," Naminé said kindly. "I'm not going to hold it against you. I have friends and stuff, it's not like my life is totally bleak. And it looks like you've got friends too. How have you been?"  
Marluxia took a sip from his milkshake, and amiably battled for a moment with Larxene as she attacked his upper lip with his serviette.  
"Let's just say that things got worse before they got better."  
"I was so worried about you," Naminé admitted. "I know you were older than me but you were so little and I didn't really understand. You didn't have it too bad in prison, did you?"  
Marluxia laughed curtly.  
"I think that it was everybody else who had it bad, actually."  
"Oh." Naminé said quietly.  
"I got better, though," Marluxia quickly added. "Eventually."  
"I'm glad." Naminé said, smiling. "So when did you get out?"  
"Last year. It was a bit messy, but yeah. My eighteenth birthday."  
By messy Marluxia meant probably less than legal, but he didn't mention that.  
"And you found somewhere to live?" Naminé pressed. Her hand still gripped his tightly, but she only just now noticed and prised herself away. Marluxia also withdrew his hand, nodding.  
"Yeah. I live with Vexen. He's my psychiatrist."  
"-And lover," Larxene, who had previously been silent, tagged on with a grin. Marluxia coloured slightly.  
"Yeah. And lover."  
Naminé nodded approvingly.  
"Good. I wouldn't want you to be alone."  
"So do you have a boyfriend?"  
It was Naminé's turn to blush and stutter, as she looked down, mumbling something Marluxia didn't catch. He chose not to press further, and the conversation moved on. He ordered Naminé her own milkshake, they talked about her artwork - she _was_ good - and made more or less idle chatter. It was only when the conversation dwindled away that they returned to the past.  
"Naminé, I want to ask you something."  
"Huh? Sure, fire away."  
Marluxia found himself unable to look into her deep blue eyes, so like his own, so he stared deeply into his empty milkshake glass instead where pink bubbles were slowly oozing down the inside.  
Larxene had quietly got up and disappeared to go to the toilet and allow them a little privacy.  
"God knows I've failed you, Naminé," he began. "I was supposed to be your big brother and instead I just fucked everything up for everybody concerned."  
Naminé gave him a sympathetic look and opened her mouth to reply, but he stopped her with a wave of his hand.  
"I don't suppose you'd be willing... to let me try again?"  
Naminé smiled sadly, standing up. Marluxia suddenly realised that his heart was beating frantically, and somehow he knew that whatever she said was going to either make him or break him.  
"Come over here, Marly."  
He complied, stepping around the table to stand in front of her. She wasn't very tall, even shorter than Larxene was. He bit his lip a little out of worry. What was she going to say?  
The last thing he expected was a warm hug, Naminé's head pressed close to his chest, but it just felt right to return it.  
"Of course," She said quietly. "I've missed you, you know that? You were really nice, when you weren't killing people."  
He laughed a little, squeezing her tight.  
"I promise I'll protect you from now on, Naminé," He murmured. "I won't let you down again."


End file.
